


Bumblebee Klepto and Pyro

by musicmillennia



Series: Small Chubby Dragons [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Cliche Idiots, Dragons, Fluff, Gen, stupid title
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 06:12:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8434705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/musicmillennia
Summary: It's three in the morning, there's a guy at the door, and neither Mick nor his dragon is awake enough for this shit.





	

It's three in the morning and whoever's hammering at the door is gonna turn to ash, mark Mick Rory's words. It's the night after a job well done, so he's betting it's one of the hired crew. Double incentive on that ash.

His dragon rubs his eyes with a stubby foreleg and waddles sleepily after him, also woken by the noise. The bitch at the door is gonna burn nice and slow.

Mick throws open the door showing that impending murder until the fuck in front of him takes the hint to make himself smaller.

"What the  _fuck_ do you want?" Mick snarls.

His dragon, fully alert by now, scrambles onto the couch on the far wall. His wings buzz like a bumblebee's in an effort to get his chubby body up there.

The guy, although cowed, doesn't walk away. (Mick knows his name, but right now he doesn't deserve one other than _corpse_.) With more bravado than he obviously feels, he says, "I'm looking for Snart."

Seems he didn't count on Mick being there. Mick supposes the word 'partner' escaped him.

"Why?" Mick asks.

Guy crosses his arms. "My cut wasn't what he said!"

 _Ugh_.

Mick gives him an unimpressed once-over. "How much you get?"

"Ten-k!"

Mick's dragon snuffles, his version of a scoff.

Mick says, very slowly, "What percentage were you promised?"

"Twenty."

Snart's too generous for his own good. Mick didn't say anything this time 'cause he got to set the building on fire.

Mick takes a calculator from the end table by the door and starts punching in numbers. Let's just say this isn't the first time a hired moron's come by. Behind him, his dragon creaks the couch's leather, probably draping himself across the cushion as if he can actually take up the whole space. It's only by the grace of his longish tail that he gets anywhere close to that.

"Do the math, idiot," Mick says, showing the screen to Guy, "ten thousand's twenty percent. You got your cut."

Guy scowls. "What, just 'cause you got a dragon you think you can hoard the money, Rory?"

How cliché can this guy get?

"Dragon ain't even big. What's it gonna do, bite my ankles?"

Mick's dragon drawls, "I can think of a couple things, Myers."

What, did you think that dragon was  _just_ Mick's dragon?

Snart wiggles to the floor, just managing to scrounge up enough grace not to land on his belly like yesterday. After so long walking on two legs, he's still a bit uncoordinated. He trots to the door, Mick stepping aside. His wings buzz again, taking him up elevator-pace until he's eye-level with Guy.

Guy, who starts laughing. "So when people say Leonard Snart's a dragon, he's actually a fucking dog?"

Snart blows a sharp breath of ice. Guy's hand freezes solid.

"Better get yourself to the hospital," Snart says over his screams, "That's second degree frostbite. Wanna stick around and make it a third?"

Guy whimpers.

"Enjoy spending your cut on hospital bills. Now  _get out_."

Mick watches Guy run for a good thirty seconds as he struggles down the stairs to the parking lot. He shuts the door and says, "You shoulda let me burn him."

Len hits the ground. His tiny wings tremble with the sudden activity after so long without. Also like a bumblebee, they look way too small to support his already small size, splashes of dark blue against a leathery cerulean hide.

"Place like this has constant reports of violence," he mumbles, already ready to go back to bed, "fire's not included."

Mick grunts in displeasure. Big slit-pupiled eyes shoot him a Look.

"We don't need the heat, Mick."

"Yeah, yeah."

Man and dragon yawn their way back to their room. Mick scoops his hands under Len's stomach, putting him on the bed in a practiced sweep. Len paws his way back under the sheets. Mick grumbles about his taking the center of the bed again and forces himself to awkwardly lie down around the chubby ball.

Len's muffled voice speaks over his shuffling: "We'll be moving to the condo on Clarke tomorrow."

"'Bout time. You like that couch too much."

" _Mick_."

"Go back to sleep, Snart."

His dragon made a few pissy rumbles. Mick has a feeling he'd make a swipe if he didn't have little round toes and little bumps for talons like a rhino.

He pats Len's ball and curls up. One of his legs has been forced on the floor, and his arm's gonna get pins and needles within the hour. Mick's asleep in minutes.

He wakes up with a dragon's stubby legs trying their damndest to hug his shoulder.

Mick Rory would not trade Leonard Snart for any behemoth in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not oooooverly excited about this one, but I figured it was a good introduction as any.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
